Pancake Tuesday
by TheGreatIntelligence
Summary: The Doctor would like to celebrate a fictious holiday with Clara that he deems very important. Though it's 5:30 in the morning and not even a Wednesday, she can't help but go along with his antics. (Whouffle fluff)


**A/N: Just some whouffle stuff that popped into my head. Hope you like. :)**

* * *

"Clara! Clara, wake up! Come on, wake up!"

Clara moaned in annoyance and tried to roll away from the hands that were impatiently shoving her, but they just followed. Her tired mind just wanted to go back to sleep.

"Please, wake up!" the voice pleaded, which she realized was very familiar. "It's urgent!"

"What, Doctor?" she groaned, rolling onto her back and half-opening her eyes to see the man standing above her bed. His hair flopped in front of his face which was bearing a large smile. On top of his head sat a large, white chef's hat.

"Yay! You're awake!" He jumped up and down, clapping his hands happily.

"What is it?" Clara rolled over to look at her alarm clock. 5:30. He had woken her up fifteen minutes before she was supposed to. She turned back to him. "And it's Tuesday!"

"Yes! I know! That's the great part!"

Clara sat up in bed, looking disgruntled with her wrinkled pajamas and messy hair. Why was he bothering her at this time? It made her want to hit him. Maybe she would. Depended on how good his explanation was.

"What's so special about Tuesday? I was sleeping!"

"Oh, yes, I noticed. How do you lot do that so often? Just lie down and shut off parts of your brain for such a long period of time?"

"Do _you_ ever sleep, Doctor?" She asked, irritated, raising her eyebrows.

"Of course I do!" He exclaimed.

She crossed her arms over her chest angrily, hoping that he would actually start explaining soon. Couldn't she get a little more sleep before she had to get ready for work?

"So, what's so important about Tuesday?"

"Pancakes!" He spread his arms as if he had just made a grand announcement.

"_Excuse_ me?" She leaped forwards from her bed and lifted a hand to hit him, but he dodged her tired blow.

"Clara, you don't understand," he cried, backing away, still looking excited. "They're pancakes!" "It's just food!" She climbed out of bed and stormed over to him.

"So, chocolate's just food? And cake? Cake is just food?" His face looked crestfallen.

Clara, still working on waking up, just managed to notice that he was in her bedroom. At 5:30 in the morning.

_Uh oh. I hope we didn't wake up the neighbors._

"Uh... you're in my bedroom."

The Doctor looked pleased at this fact, beaming, hat-topped head held high. "Yes I am."

"How did you get in here?" She still felt like hitting him. All this because of pancakes?

"Don't be stupid, Clara." He pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his purple jacket and flipped it in his hand. "Sonic." He winked at her.

"And you broke into my house to make pancakes? Why?" She looked back over at her clock. 5:37. She wouldn't have much extra time to sleep now.

"Because it's Pancake Tuesday, duh!" He rolled his eyes in what seemed like annoyance. "Don't you humans have any sense?"

"Sense! You woke me up early for Pancake Tuesday!" She jabbed a finger into his chest. "Don't _you_ have any sense?!"

He straightened his bow tie, seeming a little flustered. "Of course I do."

"Then why are you wearing that ridiculous hat?"

He grabbed defensively at the chef's hat just in case she tried to take it off his head. "Oi! It's not ridiculous! And besides, Pancake Tuesday is a very important holiday."

"Said who?"

The Doctor happily pointed at himself. "Said me. Let's go cook up some pancakes." Without her consent, he grabbed her hand and dragged her out towards the kitchen where he had pans and baking ingredients set out.

"Doctor, I have to get ready for work," Clara protested.

"Don't worry." He began throwing different ingredients into a bowl. "I'll get you to work on time. You don't have to be late for anything. Come help me!"

"I think I'll just have cereal," she grumbled, plodding over to one of her cabinets.

"Is that an insult to my cooking?" He asked, whipping around, spoon in hand. Batter flew off of it and slopped on the wall.

Clara glanced at the goop on the wall, then back at him. "Really?"

"Yes, really!" He grabbed his bowl and started mixing, still looking at her. "Very important holiday, remember?"

"Doctor, it's something that you made up."

"Because nobody else made it up, yet! It's a brilliant holiday! Now help me... Please?" He looked at her with a pleading smile and big, round eyes.

"Aw, giving me those eyes now, are you?"

At that, he instantly stuck out his bottom lip in a ridiculous pout. Clara laughed. He looked so cute like that, but she was never going to admit it.

"Please?"

"Okay." She grabbed a bowl and a spoon, beginning to smile. Maybe it was a good thing he had woken her up so early. "Let's do this."

* * *

The Doctor kept looking at her as she ate her pancakes and it was starting to bother her.

"What's so fascinating about me eating?" She asked, tapping her fork on her plate as she waited for an answer.

"Nothing," he answered with his mouth full. He swallowed, then said, "Well, not nothing. Definitely, something. But, wait, no. Why am I telling you that?" He quickly shoved more food in his mouth. "Nothing."

"Tell me what it is," she demanded.

"Well, I suppose I'm wondering if you liked the pancakes." He blushed a light pink for some reason. "You know, Pancake Tuesday."

"Yes, I liked the pancakes," she assured him. "Now tell me what's really going on."

"Nothing. Nothing at all." He lifted his plate and let the rest of the syrup slowly glide into his mouth. Clara laughed.

"You're disgusting!"

The Doctor quickly put his plate down, looking insulted and embarrassed. "I am not!"

"You are unless you tell me why you've been looking at me," she leaned over the table, pancakes forgotten, giving him a teasing smile.

"That is blackmail, Clara Oswald!"

"Yes, it is. Go on. Spill it."

"Well, um..." The Doctor looked down, starting to make little tears in his napkin. "I, uh... think that..." He paused. The napkin ripped loudly.

"What is it?" Clara was terribly curious. Why was the Doctor blushing?

"I think that..." he cleared his throat. "I just happen to think that you're very pretty." He looked away from her while he said this, still fiddling with bits of his napkin.

"You think I'm pretty?" She asked, wondering if it was a joke or a compliment. "I'm in pajamas, my hair's a mess, and my teeth are covered in maple syrup."

"I noticed." He still wasn't looking at her.

"Then how am I pretty like this?!" She threw up her arms in exasperation. Now the Doctor was just being ridiculous. She had forgotten about the pancakes, which flipped off the table. The plate shattered on the floor and one pancake managed to land on her lap. She didn't know whether or not she should laugh or cry in frustration. "Doctor!"

He rushed over to help, laughing at the situation. Clara just smacked him on the top of the head as he started picking up the plate.

Then she picked up the sticky pancake with two fingers and held it up. Now her pajamas would have to be cleaned.

"All because you said I was pretty."

He looked up, dropping the plate fragments he had started picking up, losing any progress. "But, Clara, you are pretty. I meant it."

"In my pajamas?"

"Pretty all the time," he said with a winning smile.

"It's about time, you dolt." Clara promptly threw the pancake at his face.

He toppled backwards to the ground in surprise, arms flailing about as he was trying to comprehend what had happened, silly hat falling off his head.

"What do you mean, I'm a dolt?" He asked, sitting up, pancake slopping off his face and falling on the floor.

"Took you long enough," she said proudly, glad that he had finally said it. "You haven't stopped looking at me for weeks now."

"I adventure with you! What else am I going to do?" Frustrated, he picked up some pancake from the floor and threw it at her.

Clara dodged out of her chair, but it still hit her in the back as she turned around. She laughed, grabbed it before it could fall to the floor, ready to throw it back at him. There was a loud crash and she found him behind the upturned table.

"Oi! Get out here, you wimp!" She threw the pancake over the table, hoping for a reaction.

"You were waiting for me to call you pretty?" He asked, still behind the table.

"Yes, I was waiting for some sort of confession."

"Then I get to hear one from you." He threw another pancake at her and it hit her in the stomach. She laughed and picked it up from where it had fallen on the floor.

"Do you have any more ammo?"

"You mean this?" Suddenly, syrup started squirting over the table. She shrieked and laughed, putting out her hands to defend herself from the sticky deluge.

"Doctor!"

"'Fess up, Clara!"

"About what?" It was hard to talk through her laughter. She was absolutely covered in syrup and it was still coming down on her.

"You know what!" The syrup flow stopped. She still couldn't see him from behind the table. "Or do you need more encouraging?" The syrup bottle showed over the table again.

"No, no! Put down your weapons!" She made a fake gun with her fingers. "Pew! Pew!"

"I thought I was the five year old!" His head popped over the top. He looked a little confused.

"Well, would a five year old do this?" Feeling brave, she went right over to the table, grabbed his face with her syrup-covered hands, and kissed him on the lips. He made a muffled sound of surprise and didn't respond, which upset her, but then he kissed back, lips moving against hers. She had never imagined he could kiss like this. He was quickly taking control and she began to feel breathless, weightless too even. Stars danced behind her closed eyes.

She breathed out contentedly when he pulled away, not wanting to open her eyes, wanting the moment to last.

"Um, Clara, your hands are stuck to my face."

Her eyes flew open to find that he was right. She tugged hard and her hands came away, the momentum sending her to the floor on her butt.

"Well, that was interesting," the Doctor mused after a few moments in silence, peering over the table.

"Yes, it certainly was."

"Can we do it again?" His face, now covered in syrup, flushed red at the question.

"You bet we can, Chin Boy." Clara pulled herself up to once again meet his sweet lips.


End file.
